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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27762370">Twirl</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity'>stateofintegrity</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>MASH (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:53:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,952</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27762370</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Klinger's whirling skirts turn the Major's head.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Twirl</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Non comms don’t touch officers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a rule in the military - an institution that’s all about rules. But this is the 4077th - a found family across the Pacific - and every one of them knows that touch can be healing, here. Potter pats the shoulders of those doing a good job as easily as he pats the nose of his mare. Mulcahy squeezes hands, offering comfort. Even Margaret unbends enough, eventually, to hug her nurses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The most touch-addicted creature of them all is Corporal Maxwell Q. Klinger; touch soothes and sustains him when nothing else will. It’s no surprise, really, that he’s the first one to land a touch on their lofty and unwilling transfer - Major Charles Emerson Winchester III. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re all twisted around, Major, hold still,” Klinger says at breakfast one day, fixing his clusters as Winchester yawns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other members of the breakfast party – every one of them outranking the young man – watch out of the corner of their eyes, expecting Klinger to get dressed down for presumption. Touching a Winchester unbidden, they imagine is probably as forbidden as touching the cloaked form of a king… and as unwise as touching a cat that has arched its back in clear warning. Margaret has been known to declare, more than once, that there are </span>
  <em>
    <span>cobras</span>
  </em>
  <span> in Asia who are cuddlier than Charles; his venomous words can more than be a match for the hooked fangs of that hooded fellow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To the general wonder of all, Winchester allows this brief burst of care as Klinger’s clever fingers smooth out his collar. “Thank you, my dear,” he says – and Hawk lifts an eyebrow at Klinger in a salute, grinning. He was there when Klinger saw their new surgeon for the first time. He’s not big on the idea of love at first sight – too much the practical physician for all that fluff – but </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> happened then: a burst of invisible sparks that made the air momentarily electric and changed the light Klinger carries in his eyes. It hasn’t changed back since.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, Hawk reflects, trying to bury the taste of stale oats under sugar, if Winchester is a cobra with the sign of royalty writ in white on his back – maybe Klinger can charm him with his mongoose energy and arresting eyes. He knows one thing for sure. Having won a single touch, Klinger won’t stop there. Charles means too much to him. Hawk knows that he will almost certainly hurt for it, but Klinger’s too hung up to listen to reason. The best he can do is try to be there for the kid when it all goes to hell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next time they touch, Winchester is the one to reach out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It happens in supply. Klinger moves too quickly and catches the back of his hand on a nail – hisses with the pain of having his skin ripped open. Charles catches his wrist and examines the wound, tying his handkerchief around it to stop the bleeding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get the blood out,” Klinger promises, when the smoke blue embroidery goes purple and Charles laughs and taps his shoulder – an almost teasing gesture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a war, Max. If this is the only casualty I must endure, I shall be glad of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he returns to work, Max wills the cut to scar. He would like to look down at the back of his hand and think of Charles holding onto his wrist, Charles caring for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the seventh month of Charles’ tenure at the camp, they have become friends. It is true enough that Max exploits the amnesty that this new status confers to touch Charles whenever he possibly can; it comforts him and Charles accepts it with good grace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Coming off of sentry duty, Max finds his friend in his tent; Charles sometimes uses it to escape the antics taking place in the Swamp. He smiles to see Charles sprawled and comfortable, his socked toes hanging off of the edge of the cot, and he begins to change. He’s not self-conscious around the Major, a sophisticated man accustomed to the beauty of movie starlets (some of whom he has dated) and art so fine and valuable it belongs in museums. But when he spins before the mirror - cranberry skirt over gold taffeta - he hears a sharp, unexpected intake of breath - an admiring sound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Once more, my dear, if you would?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That twirling motion. I like to see the fabric flare about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max complies because he can scarcely believe there’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>about him the Major likes or wants to see. The motion, however short, leaves him facing his friend and a little dizzy - and Charles’ arms are open. He walks into them because he can’t help himself - it’s like he’s still twirling around, motion-caught - and those enormous hands - gorgeous, they’re gorgeous and he lets himself think it - settle at his waist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are far too slender, Max.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shivers from the one-two punch of his name in that accent on top of being touched by the man he cries out for in his bunk at night (the bunk that man is in, right now) and he tells his body to cool it. He doesn’t know how to answer so he dips his head and raises a hand to his lips. “I’d like to be whatever you want me to be.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles draws him close. “You dress and undress so casually before me. I believed you thought me beneath consideration.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re all I’m ever considering. You like this skirt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll make more velvet then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Such beauty… I would ask you to dance, but I find myself, ah, hmmm, too, ah, keyed up for dancing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re hard? For me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maxwell! Such language, pet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers tiptoe up the Major’s thigh. “We don’t hafta talk about it,” he says, confirming his conjecture with a touch. “But if we did, I’d tell you that I can’t believe it, because you’re so handsome. I wanna be so good to you, so good you never wanna get out from under me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... under you… ?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max lifts himself then like a dancer and drifts down over his lap, skirt hanging suspended for a bright second, long enough for the glittering taffeta to crinkle and flash. The sound of it brushing the Major’s prone form mingles with a soft groan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s it,” Klinger encourages, happier than he’s been since he left Toledo. “Lemme hear you, Major. I want this to be just right.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles looks up at him, open-mouthed, as Max traces gentle lines down his chest, lifting his shirts to play in the curls there. He nuzzles into his belly, hungry, and Charles thinks he knows what Max is up to when strokes him into his mouth, twirls his tongue around him just as prettily as he spun his skirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles gapes, shudders, and cries out, but he doesn’t notice Max preparing himself the way he’s done when he wanted to pretend that something like this was happening. Charles bends at the waist when he does realize and his hands dig into cranberry velvet as the physician in him urges caution. “Slow, darling. Go slow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Klinger stares down at him, awed at the sheen of sweat that has formed over the Major’s chest and thighs. He can feel everything else, of course, but the visual has him shaking. He goes slow because there’s a size discrepancy between the fingers he used to ready himself and the man he’s taking, and because Charles asked him to, but he’s trembling with eagerness and his sighs mingle with the Major’s when he sinks down. His hips begin to roll and Charles thrusts up into him, timing the motion just right, seeking Max’s pleasure in a way that tells the other man, despite this being their very first time together, that he always will. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finds that spot that he’s been aching to ground himself on and sees Max throw his head back like a dancer feeling a crescendo rising from the orchestra pit; his velvet skirt swings forward and Charles feels the air of its motion kiss the sweat dewing his brow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Max…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Klinger fights to fill his lungs enough to ask if Charles knows, if he can </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>what he’s doing to him; he sees the Major smile clear up to his impossible eyes; that smile has him spasming, hands braced on Charles’ chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gripping Klinger’s taut thighs, Charles holds him tight against him. The cot under them wheezes on its shoddy springs. Klinger’s neck bends. His head falls and he pants, hands scrabbling for anything to anchor him as he begins to shatter. Charles, loving him, loving him and hoping Max knows it, holds onto his hand even as he gently encloses too-sensitive flesh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My girl, my beautiful girl,” he praises him and Max continues to rock against him, hips begging. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, Major, baby, please…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles sweeps a thumb, sticky with his own taste, over his bottom lip. “Charles.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Charles,” Klinger echoes back, eyes black and wide and wanting. “Charles, I want to feel it, Major baby.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles laughs. “Mmm, Corporal… Corporal darling… I wish you could see how beautiful you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me?! I wanna make panties the same color you’re blushing under me. It’s so pretty. Please, Charles?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am never going to be able to deny you anything.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. I’m only gonna ask for </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Over,” he feels Charles begin to go to pieces under him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, “and over and over, oh, that’s it, baby, just like that…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fall together, a messy, grinning heap and Charles drags the covers over their sweating forms, playing with Max’s hair and kissing his shoulders, his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nobody’s ever been nice to me like this,” Max admits, angling himself to enjoy those kisses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Darling, I am not nearly finished being ‘nice’ to you this evening.” He pulls him against his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, uh, I dunno how much else I’ve got, Major baby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles laughs. “Leave it to me, please. Soft and slow this time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He delivers on this and they kiss for nearly an hour, Max coaxing Charles’ tongue into his mouth again and again just because he can. This time, the surgeon uses his hands to please his lover and Max’s vision disintegrates into a violet splash of swirling stars and he wonders, for just a second, if he could pull the color off in a dress. He might actually like this ending better than the first, because Charles starts kissing him right before it begins, and he doesn’t stop until the last of the pale purple stars fades.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In an effort to equal the pleasure that’s humming through him like a current, Max returns to his lap, just teasing this time, grinding against the other man, murmuring endless compliments that are true, true, true. Three times he brings Charles to the edge before squeezing him tight, leaving him shaking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the end comes, the Major is </span>
  <em>
    <span>loud</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm, that was, ah, intense, beautiful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, ah, I rather thought that was, ah, evident.” He blushes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Klinger grins. “It was nice to hear you say please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles cups his jaw to kiss bruises onto his lips. “You like me to beg, you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like to know you want me. It’s still kinda hard to believe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Darling, I wanted you the first time you spun to leave the Swamp in a skirt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You make my </span>
  <em>
    <span>head</span>
  </em>
  <span> spin though, Major baby. You’re the best kinda dizzy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Close your eyes, pet. It will pass and I will still be right here, holding onto you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Klinger snuggles into him, but he privately believes that Charles will </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>make him sweetly dizzy… and he’ll always like it fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>End! </span>
</p>
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